Just a Little Fight
by AnotherConstellationDies.x
Summary: Sweden shrugged again. "We were drunk." He replied, not quite able to look Norway in the eye. "Got into an argument."


**Just a little SuNor goodness for you all :3**

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><p>It was late at night, and the house was quiet, save for the television, where some bad reality show was playing. Norway wasn't watching it, but he had little else to do. A bowl of strawberries sat on the arm of the sofa and he was idly eating them, though they were too sour, perhaps having been picked too early. He sighed, wondering what time it was.<p>

Sweden had left that morning to go to Copenhagen, and had been there all day on business, and before he left he had said he might call in on Denmark to see how he was doing. So Norway found himself here, bored out of his mind, waiting for Sweden to come back, because invariably when Sweden returned from Denmark he would be covered in bruises. Eventually, when the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, Norway sighed and stood up, shutting off the television. He wandered with the now empty bowl into the kitchen with the intention of washing it up and going to bed.

However, when he turned on the light, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw someone sat at the kitchen table. "Jesus Christ!" He said, nearly dropping the bowl he was holding.

Sweden was sat there, and looked up at him when he heard Norway's colourful exclamation.

Norway looked at him, and whatever smile may have been on his face at Sweden's return hurriedly vanished, as he noticed a large amount of blood staining Sweden's shirt collar. Norway looked at him, unimpressed. "You got into a fight, didn't you."

Sweden shrugged, pretty sure Norway already knew the answer.

"Oh, for goodness sake." Norway said, pulling out a chair and sitting next to him, to closer inspect the damage. Sweden's lip was busted, and one of his eyes was turning a disconcerting shade of blue. Where his glasses were was anyone's guess. There was a gash on the side of his head, just beyond his hairline, which was the cause of the blood on his shirt. On closer inspection there were small cuts on his hand and along his arm, as if he'd punched in a window.

Norway didn't doubt that he probably had.

He sighed and grasped Sweden's face non too gently, looking him square in the eye. "What did you get into a fight with him for?" He asked, running a thumb along Sweden's bottom lip, watching with detached interest as it began to heal.

This was his forte, Norway had long ago supposed, his powers of healing had proved immensely helpful over the years, especially when fights between Denmark and Sweden came into things.

Sweden shrugged again. "We were drunk." He replied, not quite able to look Norway in the eye. "Got into an argument."

Norway rolled his eyes, his fingers moving to the delicate arch of Sweden's eye socket, and the bruised skin just under his eye, watching the colouring vanish and the swelling go down. "About what?" Norway's voice had a sharp edge to it; he was getting tired of Sweden returning to him in a state like this. He had assumed Sweden was mature enough to not get into silly fights like this.

There was silence for a while, conspicuous silence. Norway ran his hand into Sweden's hair to feel for the gash on his head, and went about healing that, as well. Sweden cleared his throat. "...Dunno." He eventually said, making quite an effort not to meet Norway's gaze. Norway hit him lightly on the side of the head, where the cut had been a few seconds ago.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" He sighed when he got no response. He reached to take hold of Sweden's arm, examining it closely. "There's some glass still in here. What did you do?"

"...Got pushed into th'window."

Norway figured as much. "This is going to hurt." He said bluntly, before holding his hand palm down above Sweden's arm, and Sweden winced and tensed as the fragments of glass began to move through his skin towards Norway's hand. After a few moments Norway turned over his hand, depositing the tiny shards of glass onto the table. He swept his hand over the now red and inflamed skin of Sweden's forearm, and slowly the cuts healed, and the redness died down again. "All done." Norway said after a moment's silence. "Or is there any other wounds you're hiding from me?" He raised an eyebrow, looking at Sweden expectantly.

Sweden sighed. "'m sorry." He said. He suddenly felt immeasurably guilty, because he knew he'd let Norway down again.

Norway exhaled softly and stood up, walking over to the sink to wash his hands. "It's fine." He said, drying his hands, reaching for the bowl sat on the table. Sweden watched as the tiny shards of glass began to move from the table top to the rubbish bin on Norway's command. He didn't know what he could do to appease the situation, so he sat and watched Norway.

The smaller man ran a hand through his hair, sparing a glance at Sweden as he headed towards the door. "I'm going to bed." He said softly, and he was about to leave the room when he felt fingers close around his wrist. He turned to look at Sweden, his expression blank.

"Thank you." Sweden said, looking awkward, gesturing to his recently healed arm.

Norway nodded. "It's fine." He said again, pulling his arm from Sweden's grasp. Sweden frowned slightly and again went to grab Norway's arm. "It's _fine_, I said." The smaller man repeated, firmly.

Sweden looked down at him, not convinced. "'m _sorry_." He said again. With his free hand he cupped Norway's cheek, leaning down to kiss him gently. "D'ya forgive me?" He asked after he'd pulled back again.

Norway looked at him, as if considering it, his lips pursed in though. "Yes, whatever. I'm still going to bed." He turned to head up the stairs, and Sweden let him go, looking slightly amused. Halfway up the stairs, Norway turned back to him. "Coming?" He asked, an eyebrow raised, smiling ever so slightly.

Sweden just smirked and hurried after him.


End file.
